Suburban Goddess

“So, how’s the love life?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Anything different?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know it’s like a bad country song, right?”

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.”

(snicker)

“SHUT UP.”

A couple of nights ago, it was approaching Alex’s bedtime. I slide next to her on the sofa, where she was throughly enthralled with her Dora game on my laptop.

“Alex, it’s time to go night-night.”

“Shhhhhh….. Mommy….. just a minute….. I’m WORKING.”

I had dinner with an old friend on Friday.  We decided to go to a movie then hang out at the local wine bar for a little conversation.  After two glasses, the subject turned in a direction that always makes me uncomfortable.

I mentioned that I had to be at church on Sunday, and he shifted his eyes downward.

“Yeah… so….. I was going to ask about that….”

“What’s up with that, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

I can understand his confusion.  At the time in my life that he and I used to hang out, I was quite a wild one.  It was shortly after my first divorce, when I lived in Mid City New Orleans.  There were many nights I drank myself into complete oblivion, passing out on a lounge sofa as he and other friends would try to sober me up enough to get me home.  I could tell he was the last person that would ever peg me as “Christian.”

The truth is, I hate that label.  Not for what it truly means, but for all the people in my life who claimed to be Christian and were pure evil.  They have ruined it for the really good people.

And there are so many.  I see that now.

I was one of the biggest skeptics on the planet.  I mocked Christians, Christianity, and the Bible. When someone would start talking about their Christian faith, I would tune out.  The cynic inside just could not, would not believe it.  I have seen too many people hurt in the name of religion… I wanted no part of it.

But since I’ve opened my heart, I can no longer deny it.  Spirituality, I mean.  Not religion.

The part of my faith that I have the most trouble with is spreading the word to others. Now I am not about to jump up on a pedastal and tell everyone I’m the perfect Christian, and therefore you should follow me… in fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m a HORRIBLE Christian; I still struggle with faith, not to mention all the anger I still carry in my heart.  It takes a conscious effort to walk a righteous path, and as many of you already know, I’m not really good at walking to begin with. So when B asked me about it, I was really uncomfortable.

I don’t want his idea of a “good” Christian to be associated with me as I WAS.  Or me when I stumble NOW.  I don’t want to be one of those Christians that turns people away from it because of the life I lead.

That doesn’t mean that I’m not trying; I’m trying really hard. Every day gets a little better, a little easier, and every day my faith grows a little stronger.  But I feel that people truly have to find their own way to God.  Bopping them over the head with a Bible or begging them to go to church when they really don’t want to go is not the way.

I told B about the night I broke down… the night in October of last year when I felt like I could go no lower…. I told him the truth about how it felt, and what it felt like, and why I believed that what I felt had to MEAN something. I told him that I still have doubts, that I still ask questions… but I still feel too strongly about the things that have unfolded in my life to turn away.  The fact that he listened, and asked questions instead of nodding (like I used to) meant something to me.

Is this “testimony?”

There is nothing amazing in my story.  No miracles, no bright shining light, no voice from above. But that day, my life inexplicably changed, and I know there is a higher power.  I cannot explain it. I wish I could, because I want everyone to feel what I did.

If it wasn’t for that night, my life would be very different right now.  If it wasn’t for that night, I would never have learned to focus on someone besides myself.  If you’re struggling, if you cannot find God, try this simple act that has absolutely nothing to do with the Bible, or a church, or religion:

Go do something for someone who can’t do for themselves.

No matter your faith, or lack of, you can’t help but be infected by some peaceful spirit when you help someone who needs it. Call it whatever you want; I personally don’t think it matters.   That feeling of peace, of satisfaction… that peace that comes with knowing you’ve made the world just a little better….

… that’s what it feels like to find your faith.  And if you continue down that path, I promise, faith will find you.

… have the uncanny ability to see straight through all your bullshit and look right into your soul.  It’s terrifying to be so vulnerable, but when the stakes are that high, the payoff is worth it.

Sometimes wearing your heart on your sleeve is a dangerous thing.

While floating somewhere north on the lake yesterday, my friend C leans back on his ski.

“It’s a beautiful day to be out here.”

I nodded in agreement, laid out on my stomach holding on to the back seat handle as another wave pitched my jetski from side to side.

“If I’d known how great it was going to be, I’d have killed my ex-girlfriend, harvested her organs and bought this thing seven or eight years ago.”

I totally cracked up, almost falling into the water.  Funny how he & I think alike.

I get to work, and today’s quote on my calendar is this:

“A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life, to be thankful for a good one.” -Majorie Rawlings

I awoke to yet another nightmare about Chip. I don’t know what sets them off, but they don’t get any easier. It’s always the same premise; I’m angry, he won’t listen, and Darlene is always there.

Pretty much like, say, reality.

These dreams are so vivid, so REAL, that when I get frustrated beyond help in my dream, I wake up in a cold sweat. This one was no exception. I was eating out with my parents when I spotted them in the same restaurant. He was there with Darlene and his brother, and as usual, she was sitting ridiculously close to him.

I tried to ignore them, saying hello to the brother then walking back to my own table, but Chip followed and slid into the booth. At that point, he was almost friendly, but he was talking to my parents and not me. This made me even more irritated, so I asked in a somewhat snotty voice, “what the hell is wrong with Darlene? She’s hasn’t talked to me the past few times I’ve seen you guys.”

He looked at my parents, not even glancing in my direction, with a strained fake smile.

“You don’t want to talk about this right now,” he said, gesturing to my mom & dad.

“I don’t have anything to hide from them.”

“Okay. She doesn’t talk to you because you’re a BITCH.”

At that point I become very defensive, justifying my behavior, & we get into an argument. The thing that was different about this dream, though, was the argument seemed almost productive. Instead of trying to hit him out of pure frustration, he almost LISTENED. I was trying to get him to understand that I didn’t WANT to hate them, that I didn’t want to be angry, and all they had to do was attempt to be nice to me instead of pretending I didn’t exist.

And then I woke up.

And I realized, this is really the heart of my frustration with him.

Since I found out about Darlene, his demeanor with me changed. Until recently, he was just cold, aloof and non-chalant. Yes, I’m seeing someone else. I have every right to. We’re done. No, it doesn’t matter when it started, because it’s past and you need to move on. Now I refuse to talk about any of it ever again, because it’s over and there’s no reason to. Cold, calculated, logical engineer behavior.

It took me a long time to understand this behavior. It took me even longer to accept it. Eventually I realized, it was not going to change. The warm, funny and caring Chip that I knew was gone, at least to me.

But the day I called him for help about the insurance changed the game. I was frustrated, hot, tired, and above all, worried about my daughter. I simply could not tolerate his coldness that day. I shouldn’t have hung up on him, but I’m human, and sometimes emotion gets the better of me.

But that’s the day the MEANNESS set in. When he called and left a message, he cursed at me. He called me a name. I’d never witnessed this pure, raw hatred in him. Did I deserve it? Well, from his point of view, he had no idea what I was going through. He didn’t know Alex was as sick as she was. He didn’t know I had found out about my father’s cancer that day. He didn’t understand why I was freaking out that the insurance wasn’t working, because he truly “never had a problem with it.”

I was just calling out of the blue, being an angry bitch.

When he refused to answer the phone after the dust settled, it made me angry. The email I sent definitely had a tone to it, even though, at the time, I thought I was doing pretty well. Again, in his view, I’d already hung up on him that day, and now I was writing and leaving messages on his phone, being bitchy some more.

But the one he sent back was, again, just MEANNESS. More names, and the most hurtful statement he’s ever said to me. “I’m so glad you’re not my problem anymore.” The phone call that came after, again, a MEANNESS I had never witnessed from him.

It shocked and disappointed me. It hurt beyond words. Seven years, & all I ever was to him was a “problem?”

Wow.

Since that day and that conversation, every communication has been unbelieveably tense. Short. One word answers. Darlene has taken to completely ignoring me altogether, not even making eye contact when we’re in the same location. I don’t know what he told her, but from her point of view, I guess I just look like a crazy ex. Because from HIS point of view, I am. He doesn’t see the things I see where I’m standing. He has a completely different perspective on the entire situation, from the divorce, to Darlene, to parenting, to life….

Honestly, it all BOTHERS me. The meanness, the coldness. The way they band together when we’re in the same room, having a private conversation and private smiles, almost as if intentionally trying to make me feel left out.

But that’s the heart of it, isn’t it? I am left out.

When I woke, I started to write Darlene a letter, but then I erased it. She was receptive before, but I don’t know if she’d be again. I don’t know if words can make any difference anymore. Too many actions have been made, on BOTH sides, that say far more. I think the only thing that will make things better is time…. so I stay quiet, stay away. I give them the space that Chip wants. I stay out of their business, because it truly is none of mine. This isn’t what I wanted, but I’ve noticed over the past few years, what I want is not always what’s best for me anyway.

In the meantime, I really wish the nightmares would stop. But until I find a way to purge my heart of this rage, I know they won’t. I have to let it go, and I don’t know how.

I was sound asleep at 2am when a horrible noise jolted me from my peaceful slumber. It sounded like a gunshot; a real gunshot, not those cheesy Hollywood sound effects. That quick, indescript POP. It was followed immediately by something that sounded like hail hitting glass.

I crept from my bed, pulling the baseball bat from beneath the mattress. Bear did not bark, so I assumed if there was someone trying to get in the house, they had either failed miserably or Bear decided he’d finally had enough of me forgetting to feed him…

As I crept towards the bathroom (it’s always that damn bathroom, the bathroom I just HAD to have), I reached around the corner with one hand, flicking the light switch before pulling my hand back to safety. Cautiously, I peeked around the corner; I half expected to see the window terrarium cracked, but it wasn’t. Still, the “tik, tik, tik” sound continued. I pulled the bamboo shade back from the glass door and watched in quiet horror as crack after crack kept appearing in the glass.

Tik. Tik. Tik. Tik.

An intricate spiderweb pattern was progressing towards all four corners of the door. I tried to establish what had started the whole thing, but there was nothing. No bullet hole, no BB, no overly large insect (although I wouldn’t put it past one of those monstrous tree roaches. Bastards.)

It was like the glass just gave up.

I continued to watch it “tik, tik tik” for a few moments until the “tikking” finally subsided, leaving a stunning display of destruction in it’s wake. If I wasn’t so annoyed by the whole thing, I would have found it incredibly beautiful.

However, I cannot stop thinking about 1) how much does it cost to replace a door like this, and 2) how in the hell am I supposed to hang it?

(sigh)

I’m half tempted to keep it and find someway to seal the glass. It’s such a beautiful metaphor for my psyche at the moment.

All it needs now is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s “Coffee, Coffee, Buzz, Buzz” and Brad Pitt circa his Thelma & Louise days to rub my feet….
(happy sigh)